She sits there all alone,
with nobody to hail her throne,
fining the shiny gravestone,
figuring, whose lives to condone..
She watches the birds fly,
While enjoying the sunset at the zenith of sky,
She lets out a cheery sigh,
as she brews magic so the Good can ossify..
She was called the eternal darkness,
She was referred to as the ludicrous sickness,
Yet she stands tall for infinite ages,
Painting red over the canvasses...
Some call her the fallen angel,
Some find her work admiral,
Yet she sits there in her castle,
laughing over the stories of The Holy Bible...
She plays her vicious games,
but to some, she simply tames,
With the hints of horror and dames,
She stands high, sowing seeds of rage and flames...
Some call her an exaggerated myth,
Some call her as real as the volcano hiding beneath,
For some, she lives just down the street,
She is Death, dwelling truly at the Zenith..!
